


The Ballad of Fusker

by Soobiebear



Category: Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:29:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26692999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soobiebear/pseuds/Soobiebear
Summary: Just a little head cannon about Fusker.Warnings: Nothing really. Psychotic cats.
Kudos: 2





	The Ballad of Fusker

Talking animals was nothing unusual. Pets had thoughts and feelings too, even if they couldn’t make words the way humans knew them. The smarter pet owners knew this for years without needing research and double blind control studies. For James it had been different, and he learned early on not to tell anyone what the neighbour’s dog said or passing thoughts of farm animals as his parents drove through the countryside. 

By the time he was a teenager he’d almost forgotten about it. The neighbourhood cat used to come up to him for a scratching and chat about the local birds and who had the best sunshine dappled napping spot but one wasn’t supposed to talk to animals and he never told anyone after the way his sister had teased him mercilessly. He greeted animals warmly, the same way he would greet humans because to him there was little difference other than opposable thumbs and the ability to operate machinery. 

************

One of Richard’s cats had birthed another litter, the mother cat suckling off five of the cutest kittens on the planet and one that just wasn’t right. They weren’t sure what had happened, maybe a genetic problem or a birthing issue, but even his daughters wouldn’t play with one of the kittens. He was mean, aggressive since before he could even open his eyes. His little needle-like claws dug into anything within reach and it was a miracle that his mother allowed him to feed. 

With a farm full of animals, the kittens weren’t named. Most would be given to friends and family and there was no special connection to any of them. They’re would be another litter in six months unless Richard caught the mother and spayed her or managed to keep her indoors and away from the barn toms. 

Mindy had wanted some photos of the kittens, getting ready to post them at the local vets office in an attempt to re-home the kittens. Izzy and Willow agreed to help, playing with the cats and holding them up so Mindy could take photos of them all. The kittens tumbled and ran and jumped, doing cute kitten things except for the one black and white outcast. He wasn’t the runt and didn’t seem to be in any ill health, he was just mean tempered and anti-social. He played by himself or tormented his poor mother as the girls knew by now to avoid him. Mindy needed a photo of him. Perhaps there was another local farmer who needed a mouser. He might be good for that because as a house cat he wasn’t going to make it. He certainly wasn’t going to be anywhere near children, already having scratched Izzy and escaped Willow’s futile attempts to get a photo in. 

Richard picked up the moggy knowing he would get ripped to shreds. “Don’t get him near your face,” Mindy warned.

The small claw marks already on his hands and fingers were pretty superficial - enough to scare the girls away but Richard held on and waited for Mindy to get a good photo. “If they have a photo of me and the cat, someone’s more likely to take him.”

Mindy shrugged and leveled the camera again. Richard held the kitten aloft and smiled, even as the claw sunk into his face and he instinctively pushed the cat away, ripping a chunk of flesh away under the claw. 

“You little...” Richard bit his tongue around his girls, holding the cat a bit too tightly before setting him on the floor and feeling where he’d been scratched. By the blood on his finger he could tell he’d been gotten pretty good and the wound started to sting. 

“I told you,” Mindy chuckled, looking at the back screen to make sure at least one of the photos was usable.

Richard looked at his fingers again as the blood started to trickle down his jaw. “You know who needs a cat?” None of the photos were great. Richard was not smiling and after the third photo a tiny claw was embedded in his skin. Not a great endorsement for adoption. “James.”

**************

He was shocked when Richard called and said they had a cat for him. He hadn’t really planned on getting a pet. His travels had him away so often that it wasn’t really feasible to have animals without a wife or caretaker. Richard was adamant, said this was the kitten for him and they’d be over tomorrow morning. Mindy had even gotten all the kit and all James had to do was be home. James scratched his head. Maybe a cat wouldn’t be too bad. He’d missed the few stray cats in Yorkshire and it would give him some companionship without the demands of a dog.

Cats were independent and he liked that. 

Richard and Mindy came around the next day as promised with cat carrier, food bowl, and bag of kibble. The cat wasn’t enthused about the trip, James could hear him complain about the weather and the bumps and how scared he was. Richard got clawed again as he reached into the carrier to pull the cat out and he tried to shake it off like it wasn’t a routine occurrence. 

“He’s scared, let him alone.” The poor cat was at the back of the carrier and absolutely petrified. Even those that couldn’t hear his thoughts should have known the cat was scared. Richard backed off and they left the carrier alone, sitting down to chat a bit while the cat settled. 

“It’s ok kitten, take your time,” James said before backing away. He wasn’t sure if this cat would understand him. The carrier was silent for a few minutes before a small black and white head popped out to look around. “Hello there kitten. You can come out, it’s safe here.”

The kitten looked at James, not used to hearing someone speak their language. “Speak?” the cat asked the strange human.

James looked at him but out of social norms didn’t reply. He could talk to the cat later and it would be hard to explain the one sided conversation to his friends. The cat was interested, slowly getting out of his carrier and heading towards the tall, oddly-scented human.

“I think he likes you,” Richard said, ready to run before the cat could do something to make James change his mind.

“It’ll be good for you to have something to care for.” There was no love lost between Mindy and the cat. She’s been bitten, scratched, attacked, and had drawn the line when Willow admitted she was scared of it. The rest of this litter had been fine but this one was clearly brain damaged. She wasn’t a fan of pawning him on James, but keeping him wasn’t an option and he’d be impossible to adopt out.

“I quite like cats.” The cat crept closer at his encouraging words. “Had some strays back when I was a kid, never had one of my own.” Clearly skittish, the cat was almost close enough to touch. “C’mere kitty, it’s ok.” James let the cat smell his fingers and he was able to pet his head, going ever so slowly and trying to build trust. 

The cat would occasionally look at Richard and Mindy’s legs. “Stupid male,” the cat said. “He has stupid rude kittens I don’t like.”

James blinked. Clearly the cat did not like Richard. He was scratching behind the cat’s ear and watching as his little head turned to get the spot he wanted. “You’ll be the only cat here, just you an me if you don’t mind leaving your brother and sisters.”

“Morons. Imbicilles,” the cat hissed. “Weak wastrels.” He’d never met a cat with such a vocabulary. They tended to stick with food, mouse, water, sleep and other basics. Clearly the cat hadn’t learned from the Hammonds - at eight weeks old he already outstripped thirty five year of Richard’s language development. 

James was able to pick the kitten up, gently holding him and setting him in his lap. The Hammonds watched on and tried to hold their shock as the kitten settled in James’ lap without a single spit or clawing.

“Smell strange, but warm.” James stroked down the cat’s back, watching as he rippled in pleasure.

Richard side-eyed Mindy. None of them had been able to successfully tame that kitten and James just picked him up like normal, the cat quietly sitting in James’ lap and allowing pets. They had to leave before something went wrong.

“He’s adorable.” James let his palm slide over the smooth fur. It was soothing. “Anything I should know?”

Richard’s eyes widened. Mindy cut him off. “Feed him four times a day at this age, less as he grows up. Or you could just leave kibble out as a single cat. Litter box cleaning every day or he will go outside the box. Fresh water. He should see the vet in three or four months to be fixed, but that’s it.”

“You might want a scratching post. He likes to scratch.” Mindy elbowed her husband gently, knowing what he meant.

“He’ll likely be skittish a few days until he gets comfortable. After that,” Mindy shrugged. “He’s just a cat.”

James was still petting the tiny terror, and Richard made haste to escape. “Hate to drop him and run mate, but we’ve gotta get.” Richard rose from the dilapidated sofa and made sure he’d divested himself of all things cat related.

He looked up from scratching under the cat’s chin and watched and Mindy and Richard excused themselves.

“Call me when you think of a name.” Mindy called from the doorway.

“I had a childhood friend, Robert, whose father used to call their cat Fusker.” The cat stretched out his neck as James’ fingers continued hunting invisible itches. “What do you think? Fusker?” he asked the cat. 

“Fine, don’t stop,” he cat, newly dubbed Fusker, said as he stretched.

Richard shook his head. Maybe the cat would settle for James and it would be a non-issue. “Take care James, let us know if you have any questions.”

“Thanks Mindy. Richard. I’ll let you know.” They left James alone with his new kitten and after a few more minutes of quiet pettings James could feel Fusker start to twist up. “Don’t you go getting silly now.”

“Hunt,” Fusker groaned. “Attack.”

“You leave my fingers out of it, hear me?” Fusker took a cheap swipe at his hand, barely missing. “Are you hungry? Richard’s left you some kibble.”

“Bird. Vittels.” Fusker made another swipe for James and ended up on the floor for his troubles.

“Follow me to the kitchen. It’ll have to do for today.” Richard had left him with a box of Felix Kitten food and James pulled out a packet. “Chicken alright?” There wasn’t a dish and James grabbed a small plate from the cabinet.

“Fiiiiish,” Fusker purred. “Blue packet.”

“Oh, you can see blue?” James sorted the chicken away and found a cod packet. “If you want something different I can get it tomorrow. No Morrisons around here though.”

Fusker was curling around his ankles and debating climbing up his trousers. “Fish good.”

The pattern continued for weeks. Fusker was fairly content and James quickly got attached. The window proved to be a source of temptation for the young feline. The swishy curtains blocked his view of the outside and the occasional squirrel or chipmunk to run across the property. Fusker had been outside a few times, always in a box or the carrier but he remembered enjoying it. The air smelled fresh and the sun felt brighter.

“Out?” he asked of James one day as the front door opened. So many more places to explore that he’d never been able to spray or sink his claws into. The trees looked excellent for climbing and there were plenty of places to hide.

“No Fusker. The outdoors is no place for a kitten.” Fusker brushed against James’ leg, showing off how long he was now and how tall he’d gotten. There was still a bit of filling out to do, but he was almost done with his kitten years. “Maybe after you see the vet. There’s too many Toms to let you out now.” The door was already closed and Fusker had lost his chance to make a run for it. He’d have to keep an eye on the door and wait for a break.

“I’ve brought you a new jingly toy to play with.” James had a three pack of little plastic balls wrapped in fuzz that made a noise when he shook them. 

Fusker rolled his eyes. Another baby toy to play with but at least it made the days go faster and he could work on his hunting skills. “Thank you human.” He had to be nice to this one. He supplied the fish.

“And I’ve got you another can of that flake tuna you like.” Fusker felt that was a better trade off. He wouldn’t bite James today, maybe, if he got some of the tuna.

***********

“Ouch, you little blighter.” He’d pulled his claws in quick and dashed out the door. After crafting his plan a few weeks he learned if he got the human above his shoes and under his trousers, through those horrible things he put over his feet, the human would stop everything and swat at him. If he was quick he could scamper out the door and down what looked like a narrow road before the fat human could run and catch him. His previous owner had been quicker, this one not so much.

With a bounce he was off, running past the small garden he looked at everyday and down a road he’d burned into his feline brain. He saw more from the upstairs windows, but it was less defined the further out he ran. 

“Fusker!” his human called from the doorway. He had no intentions of being locked in that dreary house all day, breathing in those horrid human smells and pretending to be content while shredding the sofa.

He ran a few houses down, nipping into another garden as he figured the human wouldn’t run this far to chase him. The sun would still be up for hours and he could finally roam, pissing and marking his new territory as a young male. It was his gate now, and his terracotta pot. The last scent was long faded, and the cat had been old at that. Perfect for easily taking some hunting grounds.

When he had a good perimeter staked out he wandered back to his human’s place, jumping up on the window ledge and meow-ing loudly. “I’m back. Let me in,” he shouted. “James!” he yelled, well aware of the human’s name but usually refusing to use it.

The curtains pulled back and James saw him through the window, letting out a large sigh of relief. “The door,” he pointed to the same door Fusker had run out. It opened and the Human’s legs and stocking feet greeted him. He was lifted up and cuddled close to the man’s chest. “Don’t do that,” he scolded. “You could have gotten hurt.”

“Outside,” he hissed in pleasure. It had been a good day. “Mine now.”

“You’re going to be an outside cat, aren’t you? Too much time in the Hammond’s barn.” Hammonds, yes, those were his first people. With the horrible kittens who pulled on his tail and tried to rub his belly. He pushed his head into James’ jaw, remarking him as a possession. This human wasn’t bad as an owner, and if he wanted to keep his new found freedom he had to do some sucking up. 

“Love you, human.”

“Love you too you daft cat, but be careful out there. There’s dogs and cars and old ladies with handbags that will do you in in a heartbeat.”

“Scratch. Bite. Kick.” Fusker knew he could defend himself. The human didn’t have to worry about that.

“Well, don’t go around biting the neighbours. Animal control will be after you.” James gave him a final squeeze and set him down. “I’m going back to the drum breaks in the garage. Don’t get into any more trouble.”

Exploring the neighbourhood was tiring and Fusker found a soft spot to take a nap.

**************

“I’m telling you, that cat’s vicious.”

“No worries, he looks cute enough.” The pub patron ignored the local and held her hand down for Fusker to sniff. He knew a challenge when he saw one and attacked, getting his claws into her skin before she could pull away. “Son of a ...” Fusker smiled to himself and walked away, another human taught a valuable lesson. They didn’t have any treats and were in his territory. They had to know that he was the boss. He was looking for his human, following his nose to the scent of cigarettes and Labelle oil.

He found the chair and mewled, playing innocent as the blood dried on his claws. The female the visited sometimes was sitting with James and they were talking. He had to butt into James’ leg to get his attention.

“Fusker.” His human picked him up and the woman reached out to pet him. He allowed it, only because his human seemed to like her. “You’re not supposed to be this far from home.”

It was his land. He’d fought off a female for this hunting ground and was proud of it. He’d not managed to claim the church but was working on it. The noises beyond frightened him and even though it sometimes smelled of dead fish on the breeze he wasn’t sure the next block of land would be worth fighting for. 

“Murder.” He’d missed out on the bird hunting front today, and getting his claws into that female’s hand only reminded him of how much he longed for a successful kill.

“You have good tuna from the monger at home, go and eat that if you’re hungry.”

Stupid human didn’t understand. He was ready to pounce on the shoelaces when he caught sight of a flowy skirt. It wiggled just enough as the female moved, dancing in front of his eyes like a preening bird. He attacked, ripping a hole in the fine silk.

“Fusker!” his owner’s female cried. He’d not scratched her, just her skirt that had looked like a colourful chaffinch. They were delicious and always hopping along the ground, easy to catch and fun to torment until he could bite their necks.

“He’s just playing,” James defended him, picking him up and unhooking her skirt. “He’s just a kitten.”

“There’s something really wrong with him.”

“I thought she was a finch,” Fusker added, comforted as James rubbed his back.

“He’s just not very smart.” Fusker flexed his toes. He could snag his human if he wanted to, and he should have after that comment. “You know I found him locked in the fridge last night? Purring away. Daft animal.” He got a scratch between the ears. His human had figured out exactly where to get him.

“I thought neutering him was supposed to calm them?” Fusker glared at the woman. She’d been instrumental in stuffing him into that carrier and bringing him to the vet where they’d cut off his testicles. He’d come to dazed, high on gas, and missing his plums. The itching had been terrible and he’d never really forgiven either of them for the incident.

“He’s still just a big snuggle bug.” Fusker twisted in James’ arms. There was only so much petting he could take. He jumped down and strutted away. James had no treats or cat grass nor fish. The night was still young and the smaller creatures would soon be out foraging.

Death was on tonight’s menu. He’d almost certainly get a mouse if he was up near the Tesco, and maybe a rat if he went a bit further south. If he was really lucky he could find a baby bunny hiding in the verge. “Kill,” he said in maniacal glee, just thinking about what tonight’s capture would be. 

James frowned as his cat walked away muttering ‘kill’ and ‘torture’. Maybe he was just hearing things wrong. After all, you weren’t supposed to be able to talk to a cat.


End file.
